To the Bitter End
by TulisseFindekano
Summary: Previously called 'End of the Line'. What if Fingon and Maedhros went through something like what Captain America and Bucky Barnes went through? A post-Nirnaeth Silmarillion AU fanfic/crossover inspired by Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Rated T for violence, angst, and character deaths. NO SLASH.
1. Part I - 1

**DISCLAIMER: Simply borrowing Tolkien's fantastic characters (Findekano and the Sons of Feanaro, as well as Morgoth). There are no OCs involved.**

 **A/N: Rated T for violence, angst, and just to be safe. You may also find that some of the lines may be familiar...** **Some of them are taken from Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which this was inspired by. It's also very important to know that Fingon braids his hair with gold.**

 _ **Who's Who and What's What - Quenya to Sindarin**_

 _Morimahtar - a name meaning 'dark swordsman' (or black warrior, etc.)_

 _Findekano/Fin - Fingon_

 _Russandol/Nelyo - Maedhros_

 _Makalaure/Kano - Maglor_

 _Telvo/Telufinwe - Amrod_

 _Pityo - Amras_

 _hroa - body_

* * *

 ** _TO THE BITTER END :: Pt. I - 1_**

 _A tall figure strode through Morgoth's dark halls. He was no orc. No Dark Power, troll, Balrog, or Man allied with the Dark Lord. Indeed, it was strange for he was armed and walked unchained and unguarded into the throne room._ _His scarred face was unveiled by the fire from black iron braziers as he knelt before Morgoth. He was strangely fair of face, his eyes a cool, piercing grey, and in his dark plaited hair shone streaks of gold._

" _What would you have me do, lord?"_

" _Find the Silmaril-chasers. And kill them all."_

 _The figure looked up at the wearer of the Iron Crown._

" _Those in your command are waiting for you at the gates."_

 _He nodded briskly, face stoic._

" _Very well. Now go… Morimahtar."_

 _Morimahtar bowed, stared at the two shining jewels in the crown for a few heartbeats, and then turned to go, putting on a mask that covered his nose and mouth._

* * *

Makalaure found Russandol sitting at a desk that had panels depicting a hunt. His brother was staring blankly into space. Russandol looked emotionless but Makalaure knew there was something going on in that mind.

"Nelyo? Are you all right?" he asked, sitting down on a couch in the room. He was still unused to the Ambarussa's fortress. It was too different from Himring.

"I'm fine." Russandol's gaze drifted over to the woods outside that were gilded by the sunset. He began pacing slowly by the window.

 _I don't think so._ "Do you need anything?"

Russandol stiffened. There was a long pause, a sigh, and then a slightly cracked "no."

"Nelyo, you missed the midday meal, and if what Pityo says is true, you haven't eaten all day."

"I've survived longer without food," Russandol muttered. "Just… leave me alone."

"Is that what you really want to be? Alone?"

Russandol stopped, but didn't turn to his brother. His voice carried so much weariness, so much pain and sorrow. "Stop trying, Kano."

"I'm just want to help you."

"You're not helping me by trying to be like… _him_."

"Like who, Nelyo?" There was a hint of defiance rarely heard in Makalaure's voice.

Russandol spun around, shaking, eyes blazing. "You know quite well who! You know quite well who!"

"And so do you. Why don't you say it then?"

And then the fire in his eyes died. "Findekáno." He stood there, breathing shakily for a long while. That name used to hold so much happiness, so much memory. But now it only brought so much pain, so much sorrow, so much darkness and fire.

 _Why, Fin? Why did you have to die?_

Roughly, he pushed the thoughts away and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"There. Are you happy now?" His voice was just barely above a whisper.

"I haven't heard you say his name since before… _it_ happened," Makalaure said quietly.

"Ka-" His voice broke. "Makalaure, just… just leave."

Makalaure opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, and left the room, wondering if he'd done something good or something bad. He closed the door behind him, and the moment the door was shut, Russandol let all the tears loose, unable to hold them in any longer.

* * *

Makalaure entered the dining hall shaking his head. The twins were sitting at the table, and supper had just been cleaned up. There were some leftovers sitting on a counter by the wall.

"No Nelyo?" Pityo asked.

Makalaure shook his head, sighing as he sat down.

"He missed some good venison," Telvo said.

"And some possibly bad news." Pityo shared a nervous glance with his twin.

Makalaure's brow furrowed. "What?"

"A message from now-High-King Turukano." Pityo handed his older brother a scroll. "Aside from official stuff and announcing his kingship, he also demands that we give back Findekano's body or at least tell him of the burial place."

Makalaure unfurled the scroll, and read. His frown grew deeper and deeper as he came closer to the end of the message.

"I do not think Nelyo took Findekano's hroa. The battlefield was overrun with orcs and other foul creatures. He would not have gone back, and if he did, I would have stopped him."

"This is strange indeed," Telvo murmured.

"I've heard tell of a mound in Anfauglith made of all those slain… They call it Haudh-en-Ndengin. Others call it Haudh-en-Nirnaeth," Pityo said.

"That is what they are calling it now, you know? Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Battle of Unnumbered Tears."

Words came unbidden to Makalaure's mind. "'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and-'"

"Kano, stop!" Glaring, Telvo pushed his chair away from the table. "Good night, brothers."

"Good night," Makalaure said quietly.

Once his twin was out of sight, Pityo turned to his older brother, scowling.

"What?"

"We were actually having a fine day and you ruin it by bringing up that… thing."

Makalaure opened his mouth to say it wasn't his fault, but then he realized that it was, and stopped. "So… you mean Fin - the body might be on this Haudh…"

"Haudh-en-Ndengin. Yes, it's a possibility."

"Turukano may not believe us, but yes, it's worth a try… But we did not go back after we escaped the battlefield. That is certain."

"So we write the message, send it, and then what?"

"Then we hold our breaths."

* * *

Morimahtar sat in an elm tree, watching, waiting for the darkness to settle. His mind drifted and he thought of the day the Dark Lord had told him of his mission. There had been something about the jewels in the Dark Lord's crown that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Those… what did he call them… _Silmarils._

With that word came something about cold. Freezing cold. Biting wind. A glow of a fire in the east while he walked through a seemingly endless blizzard.

And voices. Harsh voices. Now it was torchlight and darkness. Voices that yelled something terrible, but he couldn't remember... He tried reaching out, searching for the answer in some dark corner of his mind. But then it all disappeared in a split second. Why?

The next thing that came to his mind was the Dark Lord's mission.

 _Find the Silmaril-chasers. Find them. Kill them._

No one had come out of the fortress since sundown.

After the last of the red-orange wisps faded from the sky, Morimahtar judged that the time was right. He jumped down, landing lightly on his feet. Though he had a group of orcs at his command, tonight he decided scout out the area alone. The scouts of the Dark Lord had gathered information about the sentries and their watches.

Morimahtar ran from shadow to shadow, moving ever closer to the walls. Once he was near, he jumped, reaching out with his arm and grabbing hold of a window sill on the second floor. He pulled himself up just enough so that he could see inside.

It was a bedroom. A candle burned on the bedside table, but there was no one in sight. The sheets on the bed seemed to have been hastily thrown aside. A chest in the corner had been opened. Hanging out from the chest was a blue banner that had been burnt and bloodied.

 _Nothing much to see here._

Noiselessly, Morimahtar jumped down, moving on to a different part of the fortress.

Unbeknownst to him, a gold string from one of his braids was loose and fell into the room.

* * *

Russandol wandered through the hallways of the fortress, unable to sleep.

A part of him wanted to get it all out of his mind and forget. Forget about the battle, the balrogs, the betrayal… even the hunts, the banquets, the mad dives off the cliffs and the grassfights in Valinor before the Strife. Why was it so painful to remember?

Time and again his gaze slipped to the walls where murals of hunts were depicted. Near the far end of the wall, there was an eagle in the sky.

 _Don't, Russandol. Don't do it again._

He felt the tears sting his eyes and rammed his fist on the wall as he broke down. On the eagle. _I can't do this. I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this. Findekano, why couldn't I save you? Why did I have to give away everything to those blasted traitors? It's my fault… it's all my fault.  
_ _Where was I when you needed me most? You were always there to save me, but… but I couldn't save you? Not even once?  
_ Russandol wiped his tear-stained face on his sleeve and straightened, blinking back the tears. _I'm just unstable_ , he told himself. _I just need some rest, that's all. Then everything will be… fine. Just fine… I hope._

He didn't believe himself, but he forced himself to go back to his room and try to go to sleep.

Russandol's heart almost stopped when he entered the room. There, on the floor, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, lay a gold string.

 _0o0o0o0o0o0_

 _To Be Continued..._


	2. Part I - 2

**DISCLAIMER: Simply borrowing Tolkien's fantastic characters (Findekano and the Sons of Feanaro, as well as Morgoth). I'll return them, um, somewhat intact. Hopefully. Emotionally, mentally, and maybe physically scarred, but that can be fixed. There are no OCs involved.**

 **A/N: Rated T for violence, angst, and just to be safe. You may also find (if you have watched Captain America/Marvel movies) that some of the lines may be familiar...** **Some of them are taken from Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which this was inspired by. It's also very important to know that Fingon braids his hair with gold.**

 _ **Who's Who and What's What - Quenya to Sindarin (and English)**_

 _Morimahtar - a name meaning 'dark swordsman' (or black warrior, etc.)_

 _Findekano/Fin - Fingon_

 _Turukano - Turgon_

 _Russandol/Nelyo/Nelyafinwe/Maitimo - Maedhros_

 _Makalaure/Kano - Maglor_

 _Telvo/Telufinwe - Amrod_

 _Curufinwe Feanaro - Feanor_

 _Ambarussa - Amrod and Amras_

 _Pityo - Amras_

 _hroa - body_

 _hanor - brothers_

 _mai - yes_

 _aiya - hail/hello/greeting_

* * *

 ** _END OF THE LINE :: Pt. I - 2_**

"Pityo, explain this." Russandol's voice was blazing with fury as he held up the gold string to his younger brother's face, almost first thing in the morning.

"I-I… I had no idea we had these," Pityo stammered.

"That's the point. We don't." He just managed to resist the urge to put Pityo in a headlock.

"Maybe it was caught in your clothing and came loose."

He shook his head. "I would've seen it."

"If you think Telvo and I did it as a joke, we did not! We would never do that!" Pityo raised his hands.

Russandol frowned, torn between belief and disbelief. "I want to believe you," he murmured, "but if you're right, then how did this get here?"

Pityo shrugged, still looking a bit shaken up.

Telufinwe entered the room dressed and armed for a hunt. "Good morning, hanor. Is Kano up yet?"

They heard a muffled 'mai!' from behind one of the doors. A few seconds after, Makalaure appeared. "Aiya. Going hunting, Ambarussa?"

Telvo and Pityo nodded. "Want to come?"

"Sure. But don't you have duties to attend to?"

They shrugged. "We're done. There isn't much to do around here."

"Did you send the message to Turukano?"

The twins nodded.

"What message?" Russandol asked, eyes narrowed.

Makalaure gulped, glancing at the twins and wondering if they should tell.

Russandol repeated the question. "What message?"

Taking a deep breath, Makalaure handed his older brother the scroll. Russandol managed to keep a straight face for the whole time, but inside there was a storm of thoughts, memories, and feelings he could barely contain. Turukano's words were so icy and accusing.

"I did not touch him," he said flatly.

"I thought so," Makalaure murmured, almost to himself. "Are you coming, Nelyo?"

Russandol shook his head, turning away.

"All right. See you later, then." Makalaure raised a hand in farewell, but Russandol didn't notice, or didn't care.

* * *

Morimahtar sat by the embers of a dying fire, staring into the darkness of the ashes. Suddenly, in his mind's eye he could see the dreadful eyes of the Dark Lord. His blood ran cold and his eyes widened.

 _What do you want of me?_

No answer. Just searching, probing, looking around for… something. He felt so naked, so exposed before Moringotto. Morimahtar was driven out of his frozen state for a moment and he held his head in his hands.

 _What are you doing? What do you want of me?_

"Hold still, my dark soldier," the voice said in his dark tongue, chuckling slightly.

Morimahtar couldn't help but shiver. The eyes… those terrible, piercing eyes were still there, glinting in the darkness of his mind. He clenched his teeth as sharp pain ripped through his head. He wanted to claw off the mask - a muzzle, more like - but he didn't have the strength to do it. It was so hard to breathe...

 _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

"Silence!" The voice rang in his ears. Then more pain. Darkness shrouded parts of his mind in a thick haze he could not pierce through with his thoughts.

 _STOP!_

It all disappeared, and Morimahtar was left lying on the ground, breathing heavily and barely conscious. If anyone was watching at that moment, they would have seen that his eyes were black. Purely black.

But a minute later, he was pacing with only one thing in mind - _kill the Silmaril chasers._ After destroying any evidence of his presence there, he rejoined his troops and gave orders.

"Gimbulûk!" _Find them all._

* * *

Russandol sighed, staring at the golden string in his hand. There were so many questions… So many questions that were begging to be answered. Heaving another sigh, he slid it into his pocket and walked out of the fortress. There was a dirt path that led away into a part of the fortress that he knew was guarded, but wasn't sure why. He still hadn't seen everything there was to be seen.

It wasn't long before Russandol reached the path's end - a small garden. He could see the figures of guards around the hedgerow that was the perimeter of the garden. In the center lay a pond with a stone bridge going over it. He eased the gate open and started along a paved path.

One interesting flower bush caught his eye. It was strikingly fire-like. Its petals were big, bright, and flashy. On one of the stems drooped a flower that seemed to be the same - only black.

 _Dead_ , Russandol thought. He did not notice the wooden sign with the inscription "Curufinwë Fëanáro", but the flowers made it clear.

He moved on, wondering what his father would have said if he had seen those flowers. The next group of flowers was less bright and more gentle. While the petals were white, the stem was a sort of reddish-brown, very copper-like. They were simple, but no less beautiful.

 _A curious collection…_ It seemed to Russandol that there was nothing that didn't puzzle him that day. The third group of flowers he came across were roses, but mahogany. His gaze fell on a sign half-covered in ivy that said "Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol". He raised his eyebrows.

"So that's why," he murmured to himself.

As he came across the other six for his brothers, he found himself nodding slightly. _They are very fitting…_ After Telufinwë's, the path led to the bridge crossing the pond. As Russandol stepped onto the bridge, he hummed a tune. Unconsciously, the words followed.

" _If all the paths lead into darkness,  
_ _Bright then it may be…_ " His voice faltered as he realized what he had been singing. Unbidden came the memories of a song carried by the almost still air. Two desperate voices barely clinging to hope.

" _I will not walk alone_ ," came a muffled, slightly wavering voice with the undertone of a harsh accent. Something in Russandol stirred. _Was that…?_

" _For won't you stand beside me?_ " Russandol joined the voice on the last line, turning to find its source. But it had vanished as quickly as it had come. Yet - he took a closer look at the trees above and found a glint of gold.

* * *

Russandol's brothers still hadn't returned by mid-afternoon. Russandol made for the stables, asking the guards if they had seen anyone, just anyone, on the grounds but they answered no. Fingering the two gold strings in his pocket, Russandol wondered what was going on. Perhaps Turukano had been playing a trick on them. But he wouldn't do such a thing… would he?

Russandol shoved the thought away as he mounted his horse. He had to find his brothers. They hadn't gone away quietly, that was for sure. He was able to track them, and eventually he came to a camp. Just then, something landed on him from above, pinning him to the ground. He realized it was some _one_ when he tried to fight back.

The sound of unsheathing steel galvanised him into action. Russandol managed to get out from under his attacker. He managed to draw his own dagger and faced his attacker - a half-masked figure whose dark long hair was braided with gold.

Eyes widening, Russandol's breath caught in his throat. _Who are you?_

His attacker's brow furrowed and a split second afterwards a dagger flashed through the air. He managed to block it with his dagger. The attacker had surprising speed and strength for a servant of Morgoth.

The daggers crossed the space between the two fighters again and again with surprising speed. Eventually, Russandol knock the dagger out of his opponent's hand. He was answered with a punch in the face. With a thump, his dagger fell to the ground. Russandol's fist connected with his foe's jawline. It made a dent in the mask. As the attacker tore the mask off his face, both warriors staggered backwards.

"Findekáno?"

That angry, determined expression did not change.

" _Who in Arda is Findekano?_ " he answered in Black Speech.

Breathing heavily, Russandol stared back at this… this person, who looked so much like Findekano, but who was everything Findekano was not - Russandol's enemy, almost emotionless, set on killing, a servant of Morgoth.

 _How can this be? What has Morgoth done to you?_

Russandol still hadn't moved when his brothers rushed in on horseback, fighting a group of about twenty orcs. It wasn't long before the foul beasts lay dead on the ground. Makalaure's voice pierced through his brother's thoughts. "Are you all right?"

Russandol turned his thousand yard stare from the empty space around him and onto Makalaure, whose tunic was stained with black blood and ripped in a few places.

"Let's get you home."

Russandol let Makalaure pull him onto his horse, unable to speak. He was silent all the way back to the fortress.

* * *

 _Findekano?_ The name uttered by the strange one-handed Silmaril chaser echoed in Morimahtar's head. Even when he had arrived at Angband, he still could not forget that voice, that face, that name. There was a tiny, forgotten piece of him that stirred at the sound of that name. And something else… something strange had happened when he had heard that song. Why did he even sing back? He'd ruined everything.

Everything.

He bowed his head, careful not to look into Moringotto's eyes as he knelt on one knee before the Dark Lord.

"Mission report."

Morimahtar couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Mission report now."

His command was met with silence. A sickening smack resounded through the whole throne room. Morimahtar held his cheek in his hand, breathing heavily. All was silent for a while, yet the room seemed filled with Morgoth's unspoken fury.

"The elf on the bridge…" Morimahtar managed. "Who was he?"

"You've seen him on scouting missions."

Morimahtar's brow furrowed. There was something he couldn't put his finger on. Flashes of green, gold, silver, blue and red whirled in his mind, an enigma of colours that couldn't be deciphered. Voices came and went with the colours, each saying something in a language that was alive, fluid, crisp and clean. Sometimes they came with laughter. Music. But he could not understand. They were so foreign, so strangely foreign, but at the same time he felt like it belonged. He felt like it was true.

"I knew him." He looked away. Moringotto's eyes started to appear in his mind, and the voice was there too, feeding him lies. Morimahtar didn't care to listen. All those things… He did not need to hear them. He did not want to hear them.

"But I knew him..."

Without warning, his arms were yanked back and forced into hell-wrought iron bands no one could escape from. He was pushed down onto the ground roughly and a moment later, his ankles were encased as well. Morimahtar didn't bother to struggle. He'd faced this many times before. Even if he didn't remember it, he felt it.

 _Do what you want with me..._

As something foul-smelling went over his mouth, he tried to hold onto those strange, vibrant colours, those voices he could barely understand. Reality was indistinguishable from mere thoughts and faded memories that almost weren't there.

Dark stone. Rough voices. Colours. Orcs. Grass. Voices. Iron bars. Moringotto's searching eyes. Darkness. Light.

Morimahtar was thrust into a small metal-walled chamber he couldn't stand up in. Instinctively, he curled up into a ball in a corner as the door slammed shut. He couldn't see where the door stopped and ended. It was endless dark black metal all around.

And then the eyes and the voice appeared once again, and with them came the pain, searing pain that made him scream and shake and made him feel like his skull was being cut open.

Just like that, the colours and the voices were gone.

 **END OF PART ONE**

 _0o0o0o0o0o0_

 _To Be Continued..._


	3. Part II - 1

**DISCLAIMER: Simply borrowing Tolkien's fantastic characters (Findekano and the Sons of Feanaro, as well as Morgoth). I'll return them, um, somewhat intact. Hopefully. Emotionally, mentally, and maybe physically scarred, but that can be fixed. There are no OCs involved.**

 **A/N: Hello. Thanks to those who read and etc.!** **HEADCANONS INVOLVED: 1) Maitimo does not like to be called Maitimo (meaning 'well-shaped one') after Thangorodrim because he lost his hand and all those post-Thango changes. 2) I only use this headcanon occasionally, but sometimes it is convenient to have. Findekano and Maitimo have such a strong and unique bond that they have this sort of 'mind connection' where they can 'speak' to each other. So... yeah. I won't use it as much as I do in some roleplays but I'll probably end up using it a few times.**

 _ **Who's Who and What's What - Quenya to Sindarin (and English)**_

 _Morimahtar - a name meaning 'dark swordsman' (or black warrior, etc.)_

 _Findekano/Fin - Fingon_

 _Russandol/Nelyo/Nelyafinwe/Maitimo - Maedhros_

 _Makalaure/Kano - Maglor_

 _Telvo/Telufinwe - Amrod_

 _Ambarussa - Amrod and Amras_

 _Pityo/Pityafinwe - Amras_

 _Tyelkormo/Turko - Celegorm_

 _Carnistir - Caranthir_

 _Curufinwe/Curvo - Curufin_

 _mai - yes_

 _aiya - hail/hello/greeting_

* * *

 ** _TO THE BITTER END :: Pt. II - 1_** [32 YEARS LATER]

Morimahtar opened his eyes, taking everything in - stone bench, stone walls, stone floor. High, arched ceiling. Broken iron chains. Alone. Black braziers. Fire.

Metal arm.

 _Metal arm._

He frowned, flexing it and moving it around. He hadn't seen it before. How did it get there? Who did this? He was still looking at it when the door opened.

"You have been summoned by the Master," said a harsh voice.

Morimahtar stood up. "Take me to him."

As they walked through the seemingly countless halls, Morimahtar was completely oblivious to the screams and moans of captives and the merciless cracks of whips. As he entered the throne room, two beams of bright light crashed into his vision. Morimahtar froze, stunned for a moment. He was jolted back by little sparks of pain in his head. After pausing for a moment to regain his self-control, he came forward and knelt before Morgoth.

"You summoned me, lord?"

"Yes… I have a mission for you."

* * *

Maitimo looked up as his brother came into the tent.

"They are here," Makalaure said.

"We are all here, then?"

He nodded. "Shall we gather here or outside?"

"In here. More privacy."

"All right." There was a soft swish as the tent flap returned to its original position.

Maitimo sighed. Soon after the Nirnaeth and the confusing series of events he didn't want to remember, the fortress had been attacked and had become too dangerous to stay in. Now he, Makalaure, and the twins wandered about with no solid roofs over their heads, fighting as they went to gain a place to stay each night.

"Aiya, Nelyo," Curufinwe said as he entered the tent.

Tyelkormo raised an eyebrow, the start of a smirk on his lips. "You really think there's enough space in here for seven brothers?"

The twins exchanged an uneasy glance.

"What other space do you think we have?" Maitimo exclaimed.

"There is outside, you know. Fresh air, more space-"

"The chance of attacks and eavesdroppers! _Think_ , Turko."

Tyelkormo leapt to his feet, eyes narrowed. He was about to say something, but Makalaure stepped in between them.

"All right, all right. That's enough."

Tyelkormo hesitated. Curufinwe put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Just do it."

Once all the brothers were seated, Maitimo spoke.

"Who heard of the rumours first?" he said in a low voice.

Carnistir spoke up. "I did. I was trading with some Moriquendi not too long ago when I heard one of them say, "A Silmaril of Feanor burns again in the woods of Doriath." Those were his exact words. That evening, I sent the message to you, Nelyo. Tyelkormo, Luthien has been dead for two years now, if what I have heard is true. You would not restrain us - and the Oath - now, would you?"

Tyelkormo had a faraway look in his eyes. He shook his head.

"So what is our course of action?" Pityafinwe asked.

Curufinwe's answer came quickly. "We cannot lose time. Already we have wasted two years-"

"We did not! We did not always know where the jewel was," Telvo protested.

Curvo shot his youngest brother a glare. "I say we ride for Doriath and attack with no hesitation. We've already lost time as it is, and we will have the element of surprise."

"No!" Maitimo slammed his fist down on the desk. "I do not want Alqualonde to happen all over again if it is unnecessary _." We have enough spilt blood on our hands as it is._

"But the only other option is to send a message of our claim on the Silmaril, and with that comes less chance of us regaining it!"

"And more chance of regret, more chance of unnecessary spilt blood. Perhaps-"

Curvo snorted. "Regret? Are you really weak enough for that, Nelyo?"

"Regret is not weakness," Makalaure said quietly. "Having the audacity to do something you will later regret is weakness."

"We are not attacking Doriath. That is final," Maitimo said firmly. "However, we will send a message. Now before you all protest, I would like to remind you that I am the head of this house."

"What if Dior does not answer?" Telvo asked.

Maitimo did not meet his eyes. "Then…"

"Then we attack." There was a hint of a flame in Tyelkormo's eyes.

* * *

 _Maitimo felt a punch in the face that was enough to make his nose bleed. His attacker's fist was stained with blood. Half-blinded by sharp pain, he aimed a punch at his attacker's face. He missed and hit the mask instead. The attacker staggered backwards, tearing the mask off his face._

" _Findekano?" Maitimo heard himself say._

" _Who in Arda is Findekano?"_

 _And then he laughed, but the laugh was Morgoth's laugh. Slowly, Findekano morphed into Morgoth and Maitimo screamed._

" _FIN… NO!"_

 _It all vanished into white flame._

Maitimo sat up with a jerk, breathing heavily. His blanket and undergarments were damp with sweat. His breaths turned from heavy to shaky as he covered his face with his hands.

 _But it was already gone for three decades… I did not need to remember this._

He could still remember that voice, that voice that he remembered singing in his darkest moments. The voice that he had remembered so well for encouraging him for when he felt like giving up. The voice that had never ceased to tell him the truth. And the last time he had heard that same voice, it had spoken Morgoth's tongue. It had sounded so... warped. So dark. So different. He could barely understand anything that had happened. Findekano was dead. He had seen it, heard of it... Felt it in his heart and his mind - especially his mind as their unique mind connection had been torn and severed. But what...? Why? What had happened was not a dream. He knew it by the strings of gold he still kept. He had felt it when Findekano punched him in the face. Was it Findekano? But who else could it be?

 _STOP!_

For once he wished that Findekano had just died. All Maitimo wanted right now was to forget. Forget about that strange string of events and remember that Findekano had died. That Findekano had died in the Nirnaeth and nothing more. That was it. That was the end of it. A tear slipped down onto Maitimo's cheek.

When he finally regained his composure, Maitimo changed into a fresh tunic and trousers and went out into the early autumn morning. The sun was on the verge of rising.

Tyelkormo got up from the log where he had been sitting and approached his oldest brother. "Four days ago, you promised a delay of three more sunrises and now that is over. Today will be the fourth. A Feanorion keep his word, does he not?"

Maitimo sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Tyelkormo-"

"Maitimo, listen -"

"Don't you dare call me that!"

"Listen to me, Nelyo! It's been a year since we sent the message and you know as well as I do that we have no other option now. Face it, the Oath has been awakened. We have to do something about it or those blasted Doriathrim will start believing that we are cowards! That the Silmaril is rightfully theirs!"

"Nelyo, Turko is right, but… there has to be another way." Maitimo noticed that Makalaure was standing next to him.

"All the other ways will not work," Maitimo admitted. "We leave before the midday meal. Get the others ready."

Tyelkormo left before he had finished the sentence. As Makalaure hesitantly left, Maitimo was left wondering if what he had done was the start of a disaster.

 _0o0o0o0o0o0_

 _To Be Continued..._


	4. Part II - 2

**DISCLAIMER: Simply borrowing Tolkien's fantastic characters (Findekano and the Sons of Feanaro, as well as Morgoth). Some will be returned as corpses (ahemsorrynotsorryahem) but Namo can fix that. There are no OCs involved.**

 **A/N: Hello. Thanks to those who read and etc.! Sorry about the possible choppiness of this section. I am the weirdest at writing. I was listening to some Dan+Shay and Owl City music for the majority of the time that I was writing this. (I hope that didn't affect the writing quality) Eventually I recovered my sense and switched to some soundtrack/trailer music. And nope, the story's not over yet.  
WARNING: Since the Second Kinslaying is involved here, it's more violent than the previous chapters.**

 _ **Who's Who and What's What - Elvish to English**_

 _Quenya_

 _Morimahtar - a name meaning 'dark swordsman' (or black warrior, etc.)_

 _Findekano/Fin - Fingon_

 _Russandol/Nelyo/Nelyafinwe/Maitimo - Maedhros_

 _Makalaure/Kano - Maglor_

 _Telvo/Telufinwe - Amrod_

 _Ambarussa - Amrod and Amras_

 _Pityo/Pityafinwe - Amras_

 _Tyelkormo/Turko - Celegorm_

 _Carnistir/Moryo - Caranthir_

 _Curufinwe/Curvo - Curufin_

 _mai - yes_

 _aiya - hail/hello/greeting_

 _hroa - body_

 _firin - dead_

 _hano - brother_

 _Sindarin_

 _ada - daddy_

 _adar - father_

 _sell-nin - if my grammar is correct, that means 'my daughter'_

* * *

 ** _TO THE BITTER END :: Pt. II - 2_**

 _Follow the Silmaril-chasers. Find out their plans. Find them. Kill them. And get the jewel._

The words echoed in Morimahtar's head as he slunk along in the trees just ahead of the Silmaril chasers. He shook his head to rid his hair of the cold white flakes that floated down from the sky. His dark hair was now shoulder-length on account of Moringotto's orders. Though he didn't care much, Morimahtar felt different, perhaps even incomplete, without the gold intertwining with his hair. For some odd reason, the Master hadn't liked them either.

 _It makes you more visible_ , he had said.

Morimahtar snorted as he pulled his black cloak over his metal arm. _So much for that._

He heard voices behind him and stopped, turning around.

"Halt! We shall camp here for the rest of the night," the tall redheaded one said. "No fire. We're visible enough already. Turko, you and three others take the first watch. Moryo, you're in charge of the second. I'll take the third. We'll reach Menegroth tomorrow."

The others followed his orders and began setting up. The leader pushed through the crowd and whispered something to six others.

Morimahtar didn't bother to listen to any of their conversations but he thought for a moment. If he forged on, he might be able to sneak into Menegroth. He nodded once to himself and left the Silmaril chasers behind.

Morimahtar managed to sneak into Menegroth posing as part of a company of wandering elves. Once he got inside, he looked around, trying not to look suspicious. He tore off the mask that covered the lower half of his face. _What kind of elf wears that, anyway?_

 _Where is this… Silmaril?_

He found the throne room a while later. Once he entered, Morimahtar hid in a corner, blending with the shadows, which were a little hard to find. The ceiling was quite high and arched, completely hewn from seamless stone. Golden lanterns hung from above. There were three open doorways leading into the room. He heard stirring in a corner and three people appeared from a side door.

 _Parents and their little daughter_ , Morimahtar guessed. But he thought harder and caught sight of their rich clothing. _No. Dior Eluchil, his wife, and daughter._

Dior held something wrapped in layers of cloth. A soft glimmer came from it, but no more.

Morimahtar's breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat quickened. He resisted the urge to draw sword, kill them, and take it from their hands. He forced himself to listen to their words and stay hidden. With all those guards surrounding the throne room, he'd surely be caught and killed.

"Take this with you, my star. Do not show it to anyone. The soldiers will protect you." He placed the cloth-wrapped jewel in her hands.

"Adar, but -"

"We still have things to do here. You are just going ahead of us, all right? We… maybe we will follow you later." Dior pulled his daughter into a hug. Nimloth threw her arms around them.

"I love you, sell-nin," Dior managed to choke out finally.

"I love you ada."

"Go now, they are waiting for you," Nimloth whispered.

The little girl looked at her parents, confused and worried, but obeyed as two soldiers beckoned her to come with them. Dior and Nimloth remained for a little while, trying to comfort each other.

Morimahtar followed the girl and the two soldiers. Once they left Menegroth, he'd be able to kill them and take the Silmaril easily… Or so he thought.

When they approached the main entrance, a guard standing by the gates yelled and pointed to Morimahtar as he was about to strike, revealing his metal arm in the process. The two soldiers and the little girl spun around.

Morimahtar bared his teeth. The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by five Sindar. The two soldiers and Dior's daughter were gone. Morimahtar was the first one to make a move. He lunged forward, swinging his sword.

It was futile to try to fight them off, but he did it anyway. Soon enough, they had him pinned against the wall. His weapons were scattered on the floor - the sword and the hidden knives. One of the soldiers had him in a choke hold.

Morimahtar thrashed, trying to break free.

And then the Feanorions came.

* * *

Tyelkormo charged in at the head of the Feanorian company with Curufinwe at his right and Maitimo on his left. He swung his blade this way and that, slashing at the Sindar who dared oppose him. He was set on only one thing - find Dior. Find the Silmaril.

 _Oath. Silmarils. Avenge. Reclaim. Ours._

The same words echoed in Maitimo's head as he fought. He was pleased at the mix of shock and horror on the faces of the Sindar.

"Come on!" Tyelkormo yelled in Quenya as he forged on to who-knew-where.

"Where are we even going?" Curvo said, riding up to his brother.

"We have… we have to find…" Arrows hit his horse and it stumbled. Tyelkormo tumbled off and landed on his feet.

"You all right, Turko?" Curvo reached a hand to his favourite brother. Tyelkormo took it and leapt up onto Curvo's horse. "I'm all right. Let's catch up to Nelyo."

Maitimo, Makalaure, and the twins were a hundred metres ahead with others behind them, trying to cleave a path further into Menegroth.

"Nay," Curvo said, eyes searching for another corridor. "Let's go this way."

Turko looked around for a brother and spotted Carnistir nearby. "Moryo!"

"Mai?"

"Come on this way!"

"Got it!" Moryo was riding by them in a minute. He wiped a bit of blood off his face and ducked some arrows. "Let's get going then."

* * *

"Where's Turko and the others?" Maitimo asked, turning to Makalaure briefly.

Telufinwe brushed the hair out of his face with a bloody hand. "They went some other way."

"Splitting up might be a good idea," Makalaure muttered. Yelping, he ducked a volley of Sindarin arrows.

It wasn't long before their horses fell.

"Where is that blasted throne room?!" Pityo slashed at one of the Sindar.

Meanwhile, Tyelkormo, Curufinwe, Carnistir and those following them had reached the throne room, where a host of Sindar were waiting. Curufinwe caught sight of a dark haired elf in a mask and dark cloak who was miraculously uninjured except for a few scratches here and there. He grabbed him by the collar. "Where is Dior? And the Silmaril?"

The elf said nothing. In a flash there was a knife in his hand and he drove its blade down Curvo's face. Curvo yelled, holding his cheek, and dropping the elf in the process.

"That'll teach you not to touch whoever you want," the elf growled in Quenya.

Curufinwe was taken aback. In that moment of surprise, the strange elf swung his knife towards him. Curvo just managed to block it through the red haze. Blood dripped down into his eye from the knife wound beginning at his forehead.

Battle fury overtook him and he swung his sword wildly, the pain fading into fire that consumed his very being. When his sword got knocked out of his hand, he barely seemed to care and threw punches left and right at the strange figure. He just saw flashes of red, black and silver.

A single voice cracked through his mad frenzy. "Curvo! Hang on!"

He turned to the direction of the source of the voice, red flooding his right eye. He didn't see or feel the blade slide through the gap in his armour. He only knew he had been stabbed when his knees hit the floor and he caught sight of the hilt jutting out from his torso. Why was there no pain?

Gasping, Curufinwe struggled to stay upright and unsheathe his knife. He could barely feel his legs. His chest felt like it was burning. His vision blurred and the world spun.

 _Is this the Everlasting Darkness?_

A force came from behind, knocking his limp body to the ground. For a fleeting moment, stars flickered across his vision. Then there was darkness, and the darkness remained.

* * *

Morimahtar's satisfaction was destroyed by a crazed cry from behind him. He spun around just in time to face another Silmaril-chaser. Copper haired. One handed.

Something flashed across his memory but he couldn't catch it.

A spark in his mind. _Silmaril. Get the Silmaril._

Sheathing his sword, he glanced at the Silmaril-chaser. Then he turned and ran into the fray, wondering where the soldiers and the girl had gone. He fought through seemingly endless flashes of grey, green, red and silver as he made for the exit out of the throne room. When Morimahtar had the luxury to turn back after he had left Menegroth, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't being followed.

He saw tracks nearby and examined them. Two - no, three companies had gone this way. The first had gone hours ago, and they were a large company. The second had gone before the battle began and the third had gone not too long ago. All three were on horseback.

Morimahtar frowned. The jewel had gone with the third or the second company, but he could only follow one track. He took a deep breath and decided on the third.

Maitimo was about to follow the masked figure when a Sinda got close to Curvo's prone figure. He yelled and attacked him almost mercilessly.

"Get an inch closer to him and I'll kill you!" he vaguely heard himself yell.

The next thing he knew, Turko was beside him with the Sinda dead at his feet.

"Tell me about the killer," Tyelkormo growled, eyes blazing with battle fire.

Maitimo quickly wiped his forehead and blocked an approaching arrow with a clang. "He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm."

"Metal arm? You must be jealous." He could hear Turko's smile in his voice.

"Shut up!"

"But that is sufficient information. Curvo will be avenged." He dashed off into the thick of it.

And ran into Dior Eluchil.

"You must be so proud of all this spilt blood," Dior spat as their swords crossed.

"You brought this upon your own people. Give us back what is rightfully ours!"

"Rightfully yours? If I recall correctly, my father and mother gave sweat and blood for that jewel."

"I do not care about your mother! The Silmarilli _are_ my father's sweat and blood!"

Dior ignored his second remark. "I've heard otherwise, Feanorion."

Tyelkormo's face darkened like a coming storm. "Surrender the-" He never finished.

Dior had dealt him a fatal blow. Tyelkormo's world spun in a red haze for a few moments. He regained the grip on his sword and thrust it into the half-mortal's heart.

"It's over Eluchil," Tyelkormo forced out from between tightly clenched teeth. "Give it up."

"I-It's already gone," Dior gasped.

Breathing heavily, they stood, almost frozen with pain, as the battle raged around them. Both swords dripped with blood, elven and half-elven. They both hit the ground at the same moment, eyes fixed on nothingness, faces twisted in pain, stubbornness, anger and pride; hearts still.

* * *

Maitimo sheathed his sword and leaned on a pillar to catch his breath. His shoulder had been pierced with an an arrow and he had cuts in various places.

"Makalaure?" he called. "Tyelkormo? Carnistir? Ambarussa?"

He pushed off the stone tree with his elbow, grimacing as his shoulder was jostled. As he paused to listen for a sound in the halls, he heard a faint song. The voice wavered and cracked.

 _Makalaure?_

When he reached his brother, the song had stopped and the mighty singer was silent, head bowed beside a figure.

"Moryo?" Maitimo rushed to his brothers.

"He… he's gone, h-hano," Makalaure choked out, looking up with tearful eyes.

"We must take him and Curvo out of here," Nelyo said at length.

"Not Curvo!"

"Firin," he whispered, barely managing to nod.

Makalaure released a heart wrenching cry that echoed through the deathly silent halls. "What have we done? Nelyo, what have we done? We sent our brothers to their deaths! We murdered them!"

"Kano." Maitimo wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, tears filling his eyes. "Kano, please don't say that."

"But it's true, Nelyo… It's true… And they died for nothing. Nothing! We did not gain anything but more blood on our hands." His words faded into sobs.

Maitimo drew his brother closer, tears falling down his cheeks. It hurt, seeing Makalaure, who was usually so gentle and stable, now so broken.

The Ambarussa came in carrying Tyelkormo's _hroa_ just as Makalaure managed to regain his composure. Makalaure turned away.

"I… guess it's just us now," Pityo said quietly.

Telvo voiced Maitimo's thought. "At least they're free from the Oath."

* * *

"Well?" Moringotto's searching eyes were focused on Morimahtar.

He reached up to start to take off the mask, but hesitated and waited for approval.

The Dark Lord nodded. "Speak."

Morimahtar ripped it off. "Three of them dead, my lord. One I killed myself, the other I mortally wounded and left to die. I have heard tell the third was fatally wounded by Dior Eluchil, whom he killed before he died."

"And the other four?"

"I… When I went back to Menegroth they were gone."

"Why did you leave?"

"To look for the jewel."

"And why did you not find it?"

His gaze slipped to the floor. "I… I must have followed the wrong tracks, sire."

Moringotto sat back in his throne, but his voice was no less harsh than it had been before. "Next time I expect you to do better."

Morimahtar nodded and turned to leave, but Moringotto raised his hand.

"Stay."

He looked up. "Why did you want me to kill them?"

"I taught you not to question," Moringotto roared, rising.

Morimahtar frowned. That one-handed Silmaril chaser… He'd seen him before, somewhere else. Unbidden came a voice, faded and barely understandable, speaking a name.

"That's enough!"

Moringotto signaled to some orcs and they nodded, stepping closer to Morimahtar. Morimahtar drew his sword, ready to attack if he needed to. But more of them came. He fought desperately but it wasn't long before they had him pinned to the floor. The more he struggled, the harder they held him down. Eventually, they placed a muzzle and blindfold over his face. The orcs forced him to his feet. He tried to move his arms but they were encased in large, heavy metal cylinders that were chained together.

The last thing he was aware of before blacking out was a voice.

"Wipe him and start over."

 _0o0o0o0o0o0_

 _To Be Continued..._


	5. Part III - 1

**DISCLAIMER: Simply borrowing Tolkien's fantastic characters (Findekano and the Sons of Feanaro, as well as Morgoth). Some will be returned as corpses (ahemsorrynotsorryahem) but Namo can fix that. There are no OCs involved.**

 **A/N: Hello. Thanks to those who read and etc.! After this section, there's one more. I'm not doing a _Who's Who and What's What_ section this time because you should have them all down in your head by now. If you need it, just flip back to a previous chapter. In this section I've stuck in quotes from The Silmarillion or modified the sentences slightly. And there's a few bits from _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_.**

* * *

 ** _TO THE BITTER END :: Pt. III - 1_** [81 YEARS LATER]

Morimahtar watched as Moringotto finished speaking with a Balrog. Moringotto sat down on his throne and poured himself a cup of some dark-looking cordial.

"Want some?"

Morimahtar did not reply.

"The timetable has moved. Our window is limited. Two targets, level six. I want confirmed death as soon as possible."

"The last of the Silmaril chasers?" Morimahtar's muffled voice came from behind the mask that almost perpetually covered the lower half of his face.

Moringotto shot him an annoyed glance. _I did not bid you to speak._ "Yes."

Morimahtar nodded.

"Leave. Now."

Moringotto had given Morimahtar information on where his targets where and started off. He heard trumpets and hoofbeats approaching and climbed into a tree, hiding in the shadows. They didn't come too close, but as the huge host passed by, something stirred in Morimahtar. They weren't just elves, they were Vanyar. Some were Noldor, some were Men.

 _I must join them._

He frowned at his own thought. It didn't seem right.

I need to be hidden. I need to kill the Silmaril chasers.

 _Why?_

Because the Dark Lord said so. Because that's the mission.

 _But I_ belong _with them._

No, I don't. Those are the kind I kill.

 _Then what am I?_

* * *

"Have you heard? Eonwe has defeated Morgoth!"

Maitimo stood up, brow furrowed. He was a little reluctant to believe this. "What?"

"Eonwe has defeated Morgoth," Makalaure repeated, entering Maitimo's tent.

"And what of the Silmarils?"

"In Eonwe's keeping, or so I've heard." Makalaure's face fell.

Maitimo looked into his brother's eyes. _The Oath._

Makalaure's eyes were sad and tired. _Don't… don't do it._

Maitimo shook his head and sat down to write a message. "We must do this. Eonwe must have the sense to give it to us. And it will all be over and done. No bloodshed."

In truth, Maitimo could hardly believe what he was saying.

 _What if he refuses? Then what? They have many on their side. We cannot fight them. It will only mean defeat. And we… we may well die. Remember Tyelkormo, Curufinwe, and Carnistir? The Ambarussa? Remember what happened to them? Remember what Namo said?_

 _"Yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos."_

But his father's voice was almost burned into his mind. _"We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice…"_

"...From cravens or the fear of cravens," Maitimo murmured. "None shall be found in the House of Feanaro. None."

* * *

It wasn't long before Eonwe sent a messenger back.

"What did he say?" Makalaure asked as Maitimo read the letter.

"He says the right to the work of our father has now perished for our "many and merciless deeds, most of all because of the slaying of Dior and the assault upon the havens". He says the light of the Silmarils should go now into the West whence it came in the beginning, and that we must return to Valinor to abide the judgement of the Valar, by whose decree alone he would yield the Silmarils from his charge." Maitimo's face hardened.

Makalaure sighed. "The oath does not say that we cannot bide our time, and it may be that in Valinor all shall be forgiven and forgot, and we shall come into our own peace."

Maitimo shook his head. "If we return to Aman, the favour of the Valar would be withheld from us and our oath will still remain. Its fulfillment will be beyond all hope. Who can tell to what dreadful doom we shall come if we disobey the Powers in their own land, or purpose ever to bring war again into their holy realm?"

Makalaure was desperate. "If Manwe and Varda themselves deny the fulfilment of an oath to which we named them in witness, is it not made void?"

"But how shall our voices reach to Iluvatar beyond the Circles of the World? And by Iluvatar we swore in our madness, and called the Everlasting Darkness upon us, if we kept not our word. Who shall release us?"

"If none can release us, then indeed the Everlasting Darkness shall be our lot, whether we keep our oath or break it. But less evil shall we do in the breaking."

"Makalaure! You are a son of Feanaro."

"And sometimes I detest it," Makalaure murmured.

 _So do I._ "But what can you do about it?"

"Maybe it would be better if we did submit."

" _Are_ you a son of Feanaro?"

There was a fire burning somewhere in Maitimo's eyes. Wild. Intense. Bright.

Makalaure sighed, gaze slipping to the ground.

"When shall we start off?"

 _0o0o0o0o0o0_

 _To Be Continued..._


	6. Part III - 2

**DISCLAIMER: Simply borrowing Tolkien's fantastic characters (Findekano and the Sons of Feanaro, as well as Morgoth). Some will be returned as corpses (ahemsorrynotsorryahem) but Namo can fix that. There are no OCs involved.**

 **A/N: Hello. Thanks to those who read and etc.! There are bits from _Captain America: The Winter Soldier._** **I hope this part is okay..**

 _ **Who's Who and What's What - Quenya to Something More Understandable for the Less Educated or Forgetful**_

 _feär - spirits_

* * *

 ** _TO THE BITTER END :: Pt. III - 2_**

Morimahtar pulled off the mask and took a deep breath, pulling the cowl of his cloak over his head. The jewels were at the camp, and so was he. Perhaps the last of the Silmaril-chasers were going to come for their jewels. If they did, he would kill them. And the mission would be accomplished. He couldn't hear the Dark Lord's voice in his head anymore, but that did not really matter. Perhaps the Dark Lord had decided to leave him alone for once. The silence was a good thing. He looked around. The tent with those guarding the Silmarils was on the other side of camp. As he drifted from shadow to shadow, he heard a commotion.

"Stand down!" a clarion voice called. "Do not harm them."

Morimahtar turned the corner and saw a massive host surrounding two figures, both with drawn swords and shining lights in their hands.

"At last," he murmured to himself.

The Silmaril-chasers fled from the camp and Morimahtar followed them, knife in hand. It was not long before the camp was out of sight. Morimahtar could hear Moringotto's voice in his mind - not as if he had spoken right then and there, but as if from a memory.

He was almost tired of hearing those words, that same mission, over and over again. _Find them. Kill them._ That gave him more fuel to finish it.

Morimahtar threw on a burst of speed and ran.

* * *

Maitimo saw a shadowy figure and the glint of metal.

"Kano, run!"

"Why?"

"Just run! Save the Silmaril."

As he watched his younger brother run off, the breath was knocked out of Maitimo as someone leapt on him from the side and knocked him to the ground. Impulsively, he shielded his face with his arm — the one that held the Silmaril. His attacker recoiled for a few moments but Maitimo couldn't bring himself to move away. He could see his attacker's face in the light from the Silmaril. He couldn't mistake that face for anyone else.

 _Findekano._

He was all too familiar, but changed, almost as if Findekano had been on Thangorodrim. His now thin face was marred by several scars, his hair roughly cut short, his face almost unbearably grim and emotionless. And the metal arm.

Everything clicked — the attack. The golden string. The Second Kinslaying. Curufinwe's attacker. _I-It's you. It was you. You were there, too. You… killed my brother. How could you?!_

Maitimo searched those eyes almost desperately for an answer. The Findekano he knew would have never done such a thing. But then he caught a hint of something — fear. Darkness. And Maitimo realized that it was not Findekano's doing.

"You know me," Maitimo managed as he forced himself to stand.

"No, I don't!"

"Fin... you've known me your whole life." He was breathing heavily. "Your name... is Findekano Astaldo."

Burning pain in his hand. Metal slamming into his face.

"Shut up!"

"I'm not going to fight you. You're my friend."

* * *

Morimahtar wanted to much to silence him. He wished that the elf would just shut up or at least fight him like a real warrior would. He knocked the elf to the ground, drawing his dagger.

"You're my mission."

He transferred all his power to his arm and stabbed him with each word.

"You're. My. Mission!"

"Then finish it," Maitimo gasped. He wasn't sure if Findekano had hesitated or not. The pain was so hard to pierce through. "'Cause I'm with you to the bitter end."

Morimahtar staggered back.

 _I'm with you to the bitter end…_

 _...to the bitter end…_

The black shroud covering his mind was hurled away. Flashes of colour and voices flooded his memory. The redheaded elf. With two hands. Less scars. No sword. No jewel. Younger. His voice. Determined. Strong. So… so different from this elf who refused to fight him. And yet… somehow the same.

 _"I'm with you to the bitter end."_ A hand on his shoulder.

A… a smile on his own face. Grim. Equally determined. _"If bitter it must be."_

He blinked. There was the redheaded elf and the chasm's edge, and then those disappeared. There was bitter cold. Coldness and darkness. There was another elf, standing beside him. Tall. With a grim, hardened face.

 _My brother._ He heard his own voice speaking. _"We shall go on. To the bitter end."_

A nod. _"If bitter it must be."_

And again, those same words spoken - sometimes by him, sometimes by the copper-haired elf, sometimes both together - echoed in his head over and over, with flashes of colour. Red. Blue. Green. Black. Silver. Gold.

"If bitter it must be," he whispered at last once it cleared.

And all at once blinding pain crashed into him, sending him down on his knees. But it wasn't a pain that was purely dark and terrible, but a purging, purifying pain.

* * *

Findekano found himself on the ground, breathing heavily. Echoes of a scream were carried by the wind across the broken earth. He pushed himself up on one arm, blinking. And then he realized that it was a metal arm. A strangled cry escaped from between his lips. His eyes darted around.

 _Where am I?_

His gaze landed on a figure lying a few feet away on the edge of a fiery chasm, clutching a shining light in between the bleeding fingers of his remaining hand.

"R-Russandol?" The Quenya felt odd on his tongue. Odd, but familiar, as if he hadn't spoken it in a hundred years. He crawled to his friend. The shell-shock turned into horror as he took in the sight of Maitimo's injuries.

"Findekano…" Maitimo's voice was barely audible.

"Stay with me, Russ. Russ, look at me."

"Fin… Fin, you're back."

"I am." He wasn't quite sure what made Russandol say that, but he nodded anyway, tears stinging the corner of his eyes. _Please don't die._ "Who did this to you?"

Pain clouded Maitimo's eyes, but Findekano knew him well enough to know that it wasn't physical pain but a different sort. Everything Findekano had done in the past eighty one years flashed before his wide eyes.

"No… no…" he breathed, shaking his head. "This can't…"

"Fin, listen to me. This wasn't your fault. You didn't know what you were doing."

A tear rolled down Findekano's cheek. When he finally brought himself to speak, his voice cracked and wavered. "Russ… I can't… I can't take this. I hurt you. I killed-" His voice got caught in his throat and shook his head, not having the courage to say it. "It would be best if I just…" His eyes drifted to the chasm as fire leapt up from it.

"No! Don't you dare!" Maitimo reached out with his stump.

"I can't be given another chance to hurt you!"

"I promise you that when it comes, you won't use it."

"How do you know that? I, _I_ was Moringotto's killing machine. I…" He looked down at his hands.

A loud, sickening crack and then they were falling, falling down through fire on a platform of broken rock. After what seemed like ages or maybe just a heartbeat, they landed on molten rock, Findekano shielding Maitimo from harm. A whispered scream tore itself from Maitimo's throat. And as they lay there in the fire, too pained to speak, they looked into each other's eyes and their minds reconnected.

 _"I…I'm so sorry, Russ. I'm so sorry…"_

 _"I've forgiven you already,"_ came Maitimo's 'voice'. It was little more than a whisper. " _It's all right, Fin."_

 _"This is the bitter end we've been talking about all these years, isn't it? This is it."_

 _"No matter how bitter, I'm glad you're here with me... A_ _t the bitter end of all things."_

Finally, they surrendered to the chasm and the flames and closed their eyes, embracing the end as they let their feär pass.

 _~The End~_


End file.
